


When Hope is Lost

by JantoJones



Series: Stand-alone Two (The 2nd 100) [23]
Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-26
Updated: 2017-12-26
Packaged: 2019-02-22 06:36:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13161312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JantoJones/pseuds/JantoJones
Summary: Illya loses hope.





	When Hope is Lost

**Author's Note:**

> I don't like this story, but my writing muse is missing and I was determined to write something.

There had once been a time, which felt like an entire lifetime ago, when hope had been an unaffordable luxury. There had been little profit in hoping for those things, both tangible and intangible, which would never be possessed. Then, Illya Kuryakin had met an annoying, outgoing, and irrepressible capitalist called Napoleon Solo. The American, through his actions, and ‘in-the-nick-of-time’ solutions, had sparked something Illya had thought was long forgotten. Hope had been reborn in his frozen heart, and working for U.N.C.L.E. had allowed it to flourish.

Now, however, all hope was gone.

A day had passed since Illya had escaped from his latest Thrush captor, following two days of intense ‘questioning’. He’d been snatched from the street, divested of all his weapons and gadgets, and taken on a four hour car journey. Illya was in a fairly bad physical state when he’d finally gained his liberty, and finding himself in a snow-covered landscape had done nothing to give him any confidence about his survival.

After hours of trudging through the freezing landscape, pain and exhaustion had caused Illya to stumble and fall. His already agonised frame screamed at him has he felt his knee twist from under him. The unconsciousness he had been fighting came quickly.

Upon waking, it had taken Illya a few minutes to remember the past few days. He suddenly realised, assuming he had worked it out correctly, that it was Christmas Day. Another thing which hadn’t been a part of Illya until he’d met Solo. The Russian had been reluctant to partake of the festival, for several reasons, but after a while it had become a time of joy for him. He didn’t celebrate the religious side of the day, but he had come to appreciate the love, friendship, and togetherness it engendered. It made him unexpectedly sad to think he would die on Christmas Day.

The snow had begun to fall again. Illya cold feel a could penetrating his bones, and he recognised it as more than just the weather conditions. He had been on the edge of death many times, but he had always had hope. Deep inside, he had always known there would be a last minute rescue, followed by a hated spell in medical. This time though, no-one knew where he was, so he knew that rescue would not be coming.

Illya wasn’t ready to die yet but, as a pragmatic man, he knew there was no point in fighting it. It would be easier if he just allowed the end to come. As his eyes began to close, a bright light appeared in front of him and brought him back to full wakefulness. The light coalesced into the form of a woman.

“Mama?” Illya whispered.

The figure held out her hands and beckoned for Illya to sit up. Assuming his mother had come to take him to a place he’d never believed in, he struggled into a sitting position and held out his hand to take hers. The figure shook her head and showed Illya that she wanted him to hold his hands palm up. She did the same and he watched in fascination as several snowflakes joined together in her hands and formed a multi-limbed living creature. 

“Eta nadezhda (This is hope)” she told him. 

The snow creature melted into his hands and Illya had the overwhelming feeling that all would be well. As the light, and the woman, faded, Illya succumbed to sleep, in the certain knowledge he would awaken in medical.

All was white when Illya opened his eyes, but it felt very different from lying in the snow.

“How did you find me?” he asked Napoleon, who was dozing by his bedside.

“I was given your location,” Solo replied, after composing himself. “Just don’t ask me from whom.”

“Was it a woman who looked like me?”

“Yes,” Napoleon answered, with evident confusion. “And I am almost unwilling to admit that she came to me in a dream.”

“My Mama came to me also, and gave me back the hope I had given up.”

The two men stare at each other, each trying to work out how to explain it to Mr Waverly.

“I’ll say I heard about your location on the Thrush grapevine,” Napoleon suggested. “I don’t really know what happened, but it led me to you and brought you home.”

Home, thought Illya to himself, this truly is my home. 

“I’ll see how quickly I can spring you out of here,” Solo said, as he stood.

“Please, do not,” Illya told him. “For once, I am glad to be here.”

Napoleon gave him a wry smile. He had no doubt that his partner meant those words, but he knew full well that the sentiment wouldn’t last twenty-four hours.

 

The end.


End file.
